


Satisfied

by merbunne



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gossip, Hamilton AU, M/M, Musical References, Mutual Pining, Mutually Unrequited, Peggy and Bucky are siblings because Why Not, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Siblings, Revolutionary War, Siblings, Unrequited Crush, Unrequited Love, steve rogers is alexander hamilton and it goes about as well as you'd expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-24
Updated: 2016-06-24
Packaged: 2018-07-18 01:39:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7294345
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merbunne/pseuds/merbunne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky remembered that night. And he might just regret that night for the rest of his days.</p><p>// Hamilton AU. Bucky Barnes falls in love with Steve Rogers, the latest and greatest in written word. So does Peggy Barnes. Bucky Barnes will never be satisfied.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satisfied

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! I've been really excited about this one. I began working on the possibility of a Hamilton AU for Captain America while coming home from a trip to Canada. It seemed silly at first but with enough plotting seemed to make enough sense to begin writing off and on between work and commissions. Currently, I write this in a hotel room during a trip to Georgia. I spent most of my plane ride making this possible and I'm very, very pleased to share it with you.
> 
> Some notes to consider:  
> \-- Peggy Carter is now Peggy Barnes. I have always wanted to explore the idea of Bucky and Peggy being related; this fic finally gave me the chance to do so!  
> \-- The Barnes Family represents the Schuyler family. Bucky represents Angelica, Peggy represents Eliza, Rebecca (Bucky's youngest sibling in the Comics version of his character) represents Peggy. Their father is the current acting Senator, and Bucky has chosen to follow in his father's candidacy with the hope of being elected in a few short years.  
> \-- I wanted to keep true to a lot of the words and descriptions of the Hamilton songs, and some are left straight word for word from the script. For the sake of the story I've also added things not present in the musical! I do not claim to own any of the lyrics being used, of which I take from the following songs: The Schuyler Sisters, My Shot, Helpless, Satisfied, Aaron Burr Sir, and Wait For It.  
> \-- I did ample research between the musical and actual history to make this story possible -- if there are inaccuracies, please let me know, but do understand that this is an act of fiction based on another act of fiction based on reality. Some leniencies had to be made hopefully NOT at the price of a good story!  
> \-- I love Hamilton. I love Captain America. I don't own any of it!  
> \-- I have only written this one shot, and only planned for this to be a one shot.... but maaaybe with enough coaxing... ;)
> 
> Please enjoy!!! <3

_ Summer, 1777. _

 

“Daddy said to be home by sundown.”

Becca. She was always so nervous going into town, despite the fact that her two older siblings had everything perfectly under control. Especially her oldest brother, who scoffed as he often did when her worries were brought to light.

“Oh Becks, you do this every time.” Bucky moved to her side, gaze flickering from Peggy (who walked ahead when she saw his eyes) to Becca. “I’m looking out for you, okay?”

“And he doesn’t need to know,” Peggy added helpfully from the lead, “Bucky’s with us. Should he ask.”

But this did not seem to ease her off; the youngest of the Barnes siblings frowned. “But he told us to stop going downtown… that it isn’t good for Peggy and I.” She didn’t actually believe that, evident in her voice, but believed more in the word of her father. Becca was an obedient child, mostly unassuming. It was almost endearing if not for how often she seemed to think the worst of their adventures.

“As I always say,” Peggy continued, a small skip in her step, “You’re free to go.” And her lips became a smile, curls bouncing as she threw a glance back at them.

“Peg, come on.” She whined in return.

“No one is leaving,” Bucky said firmly, gently touching his sister’s arm in assurance. “The revolution is thick in the air and we’ve got to taste it. All of us.” 

Because at least to Bucky, it didn’t matter that his sisters were women: they deserved to understand what was happening in their world just as much as he, a man, did. It seemed obvious and fair, and yet even his father challenged him upon what Peggy and Becca could actually be allowed to do. He wanted to believe they could soon be living in a world that wouldn’t care about something so trivial. In fact, he wanted to be a part of making that world possible for his sisters.

“I want to hear what the boys are sayin’.” His eyes danced.

Peggy clicked her tongue. “One might think you care too much for their opinion.”

“Do you care too little?” He tilted his head, peering out beyond the crowd and smirking. “You can’t possibly feel that way. You, after all, read.”

She maintained nonchalance but there was a smirk hidden in her words. “A woman  _ should  _ read in this age.” She shrugged.

“They should,” He agreed, happy to see Becca nod in the corner of his eye, and they left it at that.

A gathering of boys from the university had begun to form within the square. Among them, low tier diplomats and even soldiers, as if they had come together simply to prove a point. Bucky often wondered about that. He, too, studied at their level, but he was yet to be admitted to a public institution. His father, the current Senator, had insisted he keep away from the common people in his early studies. Only when he were to earn their favorable vote as new Senator -- after his father made sure their reputation served -- would he be admitted to public study, which was still a few years in the making.

What he did not know was this only pushed Bucky and his sisters farther out of the nest, further in the thicket of war and revolution. His youngest daughter in the square where boys yelled and threatened duels.

Not that Bucky would ever tell him. His father was so busy he often didn’t notice.

“Well, well, well.” From the crowd came a familiar man in a smart blue tailcoat and facial hair, “There’s nothing rich folks love more than going downtown and slumming with the poor, is it?”

It was Peggy who snorted first. “Oh Stark, you disgust me.”

“So you’ve discussed me?” Stark smiled, wolfish and clever. Bucky had remembered him in and out of his father’s office. “Supper conversation in the Barnes household. I should be honored, I think.”

Right. The flirt, and incessantly so. “Senseless flattery isn’t a nice color on you, Stark.”

“Ooh. Touchy, are we?" He eyed him before his eyes fell to Peggy once more. “Surely you and your defensive brother’ve something more pressing to attend to than downtown. Perhaps not causing trouble if you hope to have my family’s vote one day,  _ James _ .”

Yeah. Bucky hadn’t ever liked him and definitely didn’t, now.

“Oh, dearest brother.” Peggy smiled, something dark in her eyes as she deflected. “Could you remind me what we’re looking for here?”

“She’s looking for me!” One of the boys looking on called distantly, and the small group around him laughed.

The glance they exchanged was deadly. “Lookin’ for a mind at work, sister.”

“Hm.” A man beside Tony -- Rumlow, Bucky recalled -- huffed. “This is revolution. Not playtime.” Definitely didn’t like this one either, especially not the way he stared past Bucky to eye his two sisters. “Your father must grey his hair worrying about you young ladies so deep in rebellion.”

Bucky’s blood boiled.

Peggy nodded along, purposefully flipping her hair. Beneath the surface, Bucky knew anger lurked, but she was much better about biting it back. She had to be, in many ways. “Of course. My sister and I don’t mean to patronize your efforts, and James simply hopes to observe. To know what the people want.”

“Don’t mind him,” Tony was all honey, ducking his head in a bow to Peggy and falling right into her trap, so to say. Bucky resisted a groan. “Perhaps he’s envious. But I can appreciate your standing…” He took her hand with a chaste kiss. “I’m a trust fund, baby, you can trust me.”

How horrid.

But Peggy was only smiles, once more. It was perhaps her ability to pair sharp words with a pretty face that allowed her to even say things as such the way she did. “I’ve been reading  _ Common Sense _ , you know. Thomas Paine.”

“A woman who reads.” Stark marveled, and his tone was enough that Bucky wanted to reel back and deck him right then and there.

But this was Peggy’s fight. And she knew it, too, her expression remaining sunny. 

“Some might say I am intense, in fact. Or insane!

Pride was not the word Bucky was looking for.

“So tell me, Mr. Stark. You’re looking for a revolution, are you?” She shifted her weight, dress skirt swaying along her hips. “I’m looking for a revelation.”

Work! 

Bucky grinned, all teeth.

Stark watched her with something like intrigue. “Searching for an urchin who can give you ideals?”

“Unnecessary. When I meet Thomas Jefferson,  _ I’m  _ going to compel him to put women in the sequel.”

That seemed to be enough. Stark cocked his head and offered her a smirk. “Nothing like summer in the city, hm?”

“Absolutely, sir. We’ll leave you to it then, won’t we, James? Rebecca?”

Becca, having been stunned to shy silence, managed to nod as Bucky looped his arm in hers. Peggy came on his other side. “Good day, Mr. Stark.” He said just a touch above a sneer, pulling his sisters away.

He felt nothing but triumph. His sister was something else. Both of them -- he knew how hard it was for Becca to be here, but she stood beside all the same. They were stronger than anyone would ever give them credit for. To think how small people could be not to see how amazing they were.

But in the greatest city in the world, could people as such even last?

“Oh Peggy…” Becca sighed into her brother’s shoulder. “I hope they won’t tell father about this.”

“They can say what they like,” She seemed pleased, just as Bucky was. “And they won’t, with Bucky having been here.”

There was some truth in that -- in fact, either gentleman would be stupid to tattle upon an innocent conversation especially with Bucky present for it. His father wasn’t entirely unreasonable, he could admit. Sometimes.

“Your wild dog.”

“A proud beast, are you not?”

“I could say the same of you.”

Now she smiled at this, reaching over to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for taking us downtown.”

“History is happening. I couldn’t keep you away if I tried.” But he never would. Never.

The siblings all seemed to know this; their grins were like secrets.

“Indeed… Oh, how lucky we are to be alive right now…” Peggy pulled away, spinning in her skirt, laughing. “Don’t you think so?”

Was it luck or circumstance? He didn’t always know. Bucky didn’t often allow himself to think about it. Peggy was more starry eyed, big ideals and a bigger heart. Like it didn’t fit in her tiny frame, threatening to burst. Becca, too. He’d seen her drawings on scrap papers, on unimportant lessons in their books. He’d bought her a set of paints for her birthday.

They were so beautiful, his sisters. And he shouldn’t be the only person who knew that. The only man who knew that.

“... Yes. We’re all so lucky.”

  
  
  
  


_ November, 1780. _

 

“A ball?” 

Bucky scoffed. It was, of course, a thinly veiled attempt to have his sisters married. Because that was what a woman of this age had to aspire for. It mattered who they could find -- someone to provide, to keep them comfortable. Rich marrying rich. And it wasn’t just them who suffered this constant bachelor tirade, really. Bucky couldn’t possibly count on both hands how many parlor room dates had been set up just to see him find a young lady to call his own. To spread the Barnes family, despite how little that mattered to him right now.

There was a nagging. Something that pricked at the thought of a normal life. Normal within standard. A kind wife, children running about an estate in white. Green grass, gardens and a porch swing. His wife would cook with her shoes off. They’d sit in the grass and play with the dogs. She would smile and he would smile back. The kids would call them momma and poppa. 

He couldn’t possibly know what he wanted. But despite its ease, despite its attainability, it wasn’t that.

“Is it already time to be thrust from the nest?” At his mother, Bucky frowned. She didn’t see it, in her favorite chair and busy with a sewing project. A buttonhole on Becca’s dress. Sun dripped from the window behind her, lighting brown hair like a halo.

“Oh James,” She tittered, not looking up from her needle. “Rebecca is just upon the cusp, and Margaret could go tomorrow if she wanted.” If she wanted. Like it was really her choice, he thought darkly.

Becca was hardly eighteen, Peggy twenty. He himself stood young at twenty three, and he sat back against the parlor chair, arms crossing over his chest. “Mother, I just feel--”

“I know.” Her work paused, watching her son with kind eyes. “... But this is best for them. You know that, don’t you?” Something like understanding passed between them, one he realized his own mother could never verbalize to him. Like a prisoner to a life that couldn't possibly be different, a universe that wouldn't change in the time that she could see it.

His nod came reluctantly. He knew it, but it didn’t mean he had to agree with it. And he wouldn't. Like many things in life, however, it was easier to nod. To keep his mouth shut for once.

“Yes, mother. I know.”

  
  


The night came a week later, just before the turn of the month, and he hardly recognized his sisters. Their wavy hair was ornate -- the Barnes were a family of brunettes, each with some curl to their style, but this time it was pinned and tossled in a way he’d never be able to fathom himself. His own short ponytail seemed to pale in comparison though it was tied delicately.

Peggy wore peach. Becca wore mint. And he was proud in blue.

“You’ll have to beat them off with a cane.” He mused to them, offering his hand to both as they descended the family staircase.

“Are you granting permission?” Peggy’s smile was hopeful.

“Sadly mother and father hope you meet someone you  _ like _ this evening.”

“Oh, how I wish to disappoint.” The second eldest tossed her hair, passing him and moving toward where the carriage waited just outside.

His attention turned to the youngest, quiet as she allowed him to help her down the steps. 

“Dear Becks, you’re a treasure, aren’t you?” His smile was warm but she did not return it.

“... Bucky?”

“Becca?”

“... I don’t want to get married.” She looked expectant of him to punish her, voice tiny. Shoulders drawn into herself, her figure delicate. Becca was a bird who expected the cat to eat her alive.

It hurt to see her as such. That she saw herself that way. He knew it couldn’t be helped and the world wouldn’t change with just him, just Peggy, just anyone. But he knew it was moments like these that inspired him to try. To fight and to speak up. Any name in the book he would accept being called if it meant he could tell the world how amazing his sisters were. Peggy fought for herself, for Becca, for every woman she possibly could… if Bucky could help that in some way, simply by being her brother -- and more importantly in this awful society, a man with wealth -- he would do whatever it took.

Following along his father in government may do some good, he’d always told himself. Peggy would be close by his side, too. He’d make sure of that. Politics were frustrating, but for this reason alone he’d stick it out. He’d hold onto plenty of hope that something could be done, use his status to make things _ human. _

But the present look in Becca’s eyes broke him in a way he could not aptly describe. He wanted to take it away, to have already solved the inequality problem all together. Who could witness her hesitation and say it was anything but unjust and wrong?

Bucky exhaled, leaning down to press a kiss to her forehead. “I know.” His voice was quiet, hearing his parents clamor in the parlor. (“We must be going, dearest!” “I am aware of the time!”) He couldn’t say much. Even if they weren't around the corner. 

“... I will keep you safe. Nobody talks to my Becks without hearing from me, got it?”

She smiled at this, at least. There were so many more things he wished to say. Wished he could tell her to take off, to forget the whole thing. But she was growing up, and she was beautiful, and this time and place seemed only to care for such trivial, superficial worth. 

If he had any say -- and he would -- this would not last.

The banquet hall was filled with people -- soldier boys and revolutionaries, diplomats and students, even what Bucky’s father would call “riff raff.” Most everyone wanted a piece of the Barnes sisters, if the low noises of approval were any indication upon their arrival.

It was filthy. Though what came next was a fleeting thought Bucky often had encountered in his time as a young man -- was he wrong for never really viewing a woman that way? He had charming words and enjoyed flirting with them, but that natural urge to make her his property was not something he’d ever encountered before. Like a disconnection had occurred and he was the sole witness to his own brain.

He wondered, sometimes, if his sisters suspected. If they did, they said not a thing, and whether it was for his sake or theirs he’d probably never know. He didn’t occupy his thoughts with it for very long, forcing it down like bad food. With enough effort, it too could be swallowed away. If it’d just go away, he could focus on what he’d set out for himself on behalf of his family.

A huffed sigh and he watched his parents make the necessary introductions and niceties to the more higher ticker guests. Bucky recognized faces that had passed through the parlor on more than one occasion -- those who worked with his father in the cabinet, those who had known the family for years. Those who would, one day, perhaps be a part of his own office. What a strange thought. Even as he had prepared for that, it didn’t seem quite real enough when faced with these facts.

Peggy, of course, entered the room with confidence and true beauty free of their parents’ introduction. He wouldn’t expect anything differently, watching her talk politely with the men who made no real move to hide the way they fell all over themselves to talk with her. Her words, Bucky knew, were kind… but as she cast a glance back at him, he realized they were thinking the exact same thing about all of it. He could only smile in response. She, too, smiled something wicked; he rolled his shoulders in a shrug.

The evening continued without much event. Women -- presumably sent over by his mother -- would occasionally find him for a conversation. Their company was fine enough; he smiled for some, complimented others, even gave some lucky few a twirl about the dancefloor. He certainly liked dancing. Less to worry about. Less to say. Girls were pretty and he liked the way their skirts billowed around their petite frames in a spin while strings and pianos echoed in the background.

But as these moments often felt, it didn’t seem like he was accomplishing anything. He thanked the blonde in his arms with a bow and a kiss of the hand; she left with a giggle and well wishes. And that was it. It was always it: he felt nothing else, watching her leave but a moment before surveying the room. The rest of the guests milled about, faces melting together in something more simple and drab. Was this what life was always to be?

“James, honey,” his mother came to his side, smile like sunshine on her face.

“Mother.” He mirrored her sun, though it perhaps didn't touch his eyes. “Pleasant evening?”

“Certainly.” She kissed his cheek, looping her arm in his. “And those girls are agreeable, are they not?”

So that's why she’d come over. “I suppose.”

“Only suppose? Those are some of the most favorable girls of the banquet, the same as your own sisters!”

“Do they dance the same as they hope to bride?”

“James.”

“Mother.”

She hesitated, but eventually squeezed his arm. “... Promise you will at least consider them?”

And the implications were almost suffocating. They crushed his shoulders, squeezed his lungs until he had to fight to take in a breath to reply. “... Yes, mother.”

Because, god, how could he tell her he absolutely wouldn't? At least not in the good faith she wanted or, really, anyone wanted. If he took a wife, he could grow to love and care for her. But it would be his responsibility as a man and that would be all. 

And the guilt of that was perhaps enough to drop dead, wasn't it?

His mother softened but gave him another squeeze before leaving to continue her personal social climbing, as was her duty.

His eyes found Becca, talking nicely to a young man in the colors of the revolution. He smiled at her, a glow in his face all too familiar when boys talked to the Barnes sisters. Of course. But she didn't seem to look entirely too mortified; Bucky left it alone.

Next was Peggy. Talking to a girlfriend of hers -- Angie, Bucky recalled. Another family of girls and two brothers. Maybe she hoped to find a strapping husband this evening, as well. A dark cloud came over his heart--

But it was then Bucky turned and saw his face for the very first time.

  
  
  


But it was then Peggy turned and saw his face for the very first time.

A man of tall stature, wearing revolution colors. A soldier of sorts, but something more in his expression. Blonde. Blue eyes, sky’s the limit--

Helpless.

Her fixation was enough to pause her conversation with Angie, who turned to see what the fuss was about.

“... Oh, Peg--”

Peggy took her arm, ducking low enough to whisper, “This one’s mine.”

Her gaze found him again, a clever grin as he talks with one of the men he’d entered with. Wilson, one of the other revolutionaries. Where had he been hiding? It was like she was seeing color for the first time -- the rich red of the drapery behind him, bold against the blues of his jacket, the white of his pants and the marble flooring at their feet.

To think it’d only taken one face, one pair of eyes. She’d so long resigned herself to a marriage of mere convenience, a marriage that had only the platonic love of a caretaker and a loyal wife.

But one look in those eyes.

Helpless.

A face she more readily recognized disturbed the scene -- his friends parted away from Bucky.

Her brother. Bucky was speaking with him.

He’d turned and gave him a winning smile. Those eyes, could drown in them--

Her chest seized. Nervous? For what? It was only Bucky. What on earth could she be worrying for?

Peggy was not the type, but watched the scene with baited breath. They spoke and smiled -- what was that in her brother’s grin? She’d never seen that in it before--

Bucky met her eyes. For the first time in her life, she could not read his expression. Her gaze danced between her brother and the man, eventually resting on him with a sigh of her own creation. He looked back, then. A smile.

Helpless.

A wave of Bucky’s hand and the man tilted his head as if to ask a question. Peggy could see their lips move clearly:

_ “Where are you taking me?”  _ The man.

_ “I am about to change your life.”  _ Bucky.

_ “Then by all means, lead the way.” _

And all the height of the man, the strength of his shoulders and sharp jaw, cheekbones, one look in those eyes--he now stood before her.

Helpless.

“Margaret Barnes.” She said automatically, just as she had so many times this evening, but this time she felt the words with heat in her stomach. An introduction she wanted to make. The last she wanted to make for a man to covet. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Barnes?” Deep timbre questioned, looking away from her only to eye her brother.

“My sister.”

He took her hand and bowed in her direction. She felt the softness of his touch swallow her whole. “Steven Rogers.”

“Thank you for all of your service,” Her smile came nearly breathless. Like it was completely independent of herself, dedicated only to him. Those eyes, his eyes, down for the count--

“If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.”

It was hard not to beam, and she couldn't hold herself back. Her visage remained the perfect glow of sunshine on snow, without the cold of the winter that they had met during. She could learn to grow so fond of the chill, now.

Bucky touched her arm, breaking the temporary fantasy.

“I’ll leave you to it.”  
  
  


 

_ December 1780, one week later. _

 

A dozen letters. She’d written to him every night following the ball, even using the stationary she had saved for special occasion only. The paper was perfumed, a little something to remember her by. She took her time with each word, ink to paper at the desk in her room with Becca.

“Peg,” Bucky called from the stairs. Footsteps as he made his way up. “Rogers, right on time.”

And she wasn't even through responding to the first letter! But this was common of him. He’d been quick to confide how he enjoyed the written word, sharing the small details of his life consumed with writing. The fact that he took the time to even send a letter each day, some with equally charming drawings of what scenery he must see outside of his window…

Helpless.

Her delight was like a secret, but even she couldn't hide the tiny smile as Bucky entered with the letter in question. 

“Straight from his office.” He was flushed from the cold.

“You saw him today?”

Why did that make her nervous?

“Had to be sure of his intentions.” Bucky’s tone was flippant. “Wouldn't hesitate to clock him.”

“Bucky!”

“He checked out fine, Peg. Worry not -- won't be seeing my right hook just yet.”

Now she smiled for real -- a grin about her face as she stared up at her brother, her confidant, her favorite person in the entire world. Her mind drifted back to the ball, as it often did as of late, and seemed to pause on a single moment. A split second where he had looked at her like they weren't related, like he had lost himself completely. There was something so frightening and empty in the way he’d stared; it had only lasted a moment, and then seconds later he’d turned to Steve and brought him over.

But just the same as she dreamt of Steve’s smile, she dreamt nightmares of Bucky’s cold expression. Her racing mind couldn't rest.

“... Bucky?” 

He’d been busy with his own reflection in her mirror during the pause; his gaze moved away at the call of his name. “Sister?”

“... You would tell me if something troubled you, yes?” She leveled her eyes to his, the letters and intent of such forgotten entirely. 

His face changed -- a brief flicker of that familiar cold, settling dread in her heart -- before he settled on a smirk. Or something close. “Of course I would.”

The silence between them felt like dry air.

“... Well. Do go on. If there is trouble in this world for you, please…” She rose from her desk, crossing the room to take his hand. “I wish to take it away.”

He softened, shoulders slack. An expression more familiar. “... The war, Peggy. That’s all.” Their hands squeezed. “Revolution is exciting but a fright, as well.”

“ _ Is  _ that all?”

“I don't suppose you’ve another idea?”

And despite the weight of the question, it was not a charged statement. He looked at her with curious, full eyes. 

She pursed her lips. “I… simply worry.”

He lifted her hand and kissed her knuckles. “I am undeserving of such. You've another man to dote your worry upon, and he could use it more than I.”

Letting their hands go, Bucky placed the new letter in her grasp. Before she could speak again, he continued, “You know, Peg.” He crossed back to the vanity, touching one of the delicate cosmetic bottles that sat just underneath. “I have heard the way he speaks of you,” Peggy had been very private about anyone actually reading their letters, after all. 

“All I can say is… If you really loved me, you would share him.”

Pardon?

She looked over at him, reading his face. Could this be what she saw? What she--

But he only smiled, the hint of a laugh in the sparkle of his eye. She broke, laughing too. Forgetting the whole thing.

“Hah!”

 

 

_ December 1780, two weeks later. _

 

The Barnes house was warm with dinner and conversation. Many of the same faces from the ball had returned to socialize anew. The rumors had turned incessant -- Steven Rogers, writing daily and nightly to Margaret Barnes, one of the most eligible women to be married. Steven Rogers, fast talking and scrappy, penniless and after Margaret for her daddy’s money and name.

But this evening had closed the door on that gossip. People who were jealous could pass the time as they liked -- Peggy knew it was a simple lack of understanding. They, after all, hadn't read his letters. They hadn't memorized his words and kept them close to their heart like a bird’s song or a summer daydream.

They didn't know him. And they didn't need to.

At the dining table, Steve sat close and spoke with his father and Bucky. They discussed war, politics, Steve’s work and how the public was growing to favor him. It seemed they left her name out of it -- only a naive fool would cast away the possibility that some of his approval had anything to do becoming involved with a Barnes, but to know and to acknowledge were entirely different beasts. She knew that all too well, indifferent to the fact and simply happy he could speak to the gentleman in her life with ease and wit. There was nothing his mind couldn't do.

Later they would move to the parlor. After dinner drinks and more political discussion, though with the way Steve seemed unable to keep his hands from moving without a drink in them, it was clear he hoped to discuss something else. Peggy knew. It kept her up at night.

Bucky knew, too. She had told him first the moment Steve suggested any of it, a glow in her cheeks not unlike the stars themselves. He kept his steely eyes on a point over Steve’s shoulder. Peggy pretended she didn't notice.

“Sir?” Steve would finally say, the conversation quiet and private separate the party that seemed to interact beyond their tiny group of four. Becca and their mother seemed to be elsewhere.

“Go on, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

And from his mouth came love. Promise. A dedication that seemed to rival most every notion and preconceived idea of commitment she had ever heard. Pink peppered her face as she smiled at him, encouraging, so completely taken--

Helpless.

Her father considered the proposal, and something in his expression made her heart leap. She did not cry often, yet if it were to truly end for good--

He crossed the room. Steve stood up. His hand found Steve’s in a shake. “Be true.”

And Steve turned to smile at her. Sunshine. One look in those eyes--

Helpless.

  
  


_ December 1780, one week later. _

 

“Peggy.”

Oh, that soft voice of his. Tender like a breeze upstate. He wasn't often so careful, and didn't even have to be, now. It was only the two of them on the porch of her house, the moon ripe and full in the air.

She was curled into his side, chaste but close. They were to be married the next morning. The rehearsal party continued behind them. “Steve?”

“You know I've been living without a family since I was a child. My father left… and my mother died.”

Of course she knew. Worry creased her brows; she rested her cheek on his shoulder.

“I grew up buckwild.” He laughed, gentle with lingering sadness of a wound that would not heal. “But I'll never forget my mother’s face… that was real.”

“Oh, Steve…”

He set his shoulders; he often did so before he was to say something of grandsire. It warmed her to realize things like that. His hand found hers tucked around his arm.

“As long as I’m alive, Peggy… I swear to God you’ll never feel so helpless.”

But wasn't that the best feeling of all?

When she looked into his eyes, the sky was the limit. Down for the count; drowning in them.

Helpless.

  
  


_ December 1780, the next day. _

 

“Alright, alright! That's what I'm talking about!”

From around Sam Wilson’s voice, the crowd cheered, drinking and laughing.

“Now everyone give it up… For the best man… James Buchanan Barnes!”

Bucky came forward in his nicest coats, champagne in hand. An exhale and he rose the glass. “A toast to the groom!”

“To the groom! To the groom!”

“To the bride,” he smiled at Peggy.

“To the bride, to the bride!”

“From your brother,” Bucky caught her eye with a wink, “Who is always by your side.”

She was a vision in white -- her hand in Steve’s on her left, a ring sparkling on her finger. An angel, his sister.

“To your union!”

“To the union! The revolution!” Sam and the boys laughed; Steve gave them an extra tip with his glass.

“And the hope that you provide!” He eyed the room, taking in the attention to his every word. A list of his chin and a sparkling smile, “May you always…. be satisfied.”

The crowd cheered and Bucky was somewhere else.

 

Helpless. 

Somewhere else.

Helpless.

That night. He remembered that night.

He just might.

Rewind.

Rewind.

Rewind.

 

He remembered that night. And he might just regret that night for the rest of his days.

He remembered the soldier boys tripping over themselves to speak to his sisters. They were excited, and he knew why, of course. Money and status came with anyone who could win the praise of a Barnes. And the women knew this, too -- his mother sent woman after woman and he smiled at all of them, sending them away after a fair chance of time. After he had had too much.

He remembered that dreamlike candlelight. Music and a distant flicker of what could be in a life he knew he would never actually live to see. If it ever came true. He could not be so ideal as to expect it to be so. A dream he couldn't quite place in a sea of familiar darkness.

But he would never forget the first time he saw Steve’s face.

He would never be the same.

It had been like a gunshot wound. Clean and clear to the heart, enough that he felt weak. Dizzy. Before he could properly discern, Bucky was walking toward him. Just to be near, to bear witness to any part of him.

A mistake. But he pressed on, never quite feeling this way before and wanting to savor all of it. Every part. Even what hurt.

He drew close, approaching him and the boys around him. Intelligent eyes. A hunger-panged frame. He was tall and lean to the more stocky Bucky. Poverty.

The murmurs around him -- the other revolutionaries -- and they left, leaving them alone. It was like a scene set only for two. He could hardly breathe, watching his every move.

Between them passed a greeting. A simple good evening; Bucky forgot his name. Set his heart aflame. Everything aflame, really. He dipped his head, those blue eyes, the sky’s the limit--

Helpless. 

This was not a game.

“You strike me as a man who has never been satisfied.”

Bucky blinked up at him, mouth moving faster than his brain could follow. What did he hope to imply, to tease, to tempt-- “I'm sure I don't know what you mean. You forget yourself.”

He only smiled, a spark at the edge. “You're like me,” was his lax reply, tilting his head. “I'm never satisfied.”

“... Is that right?”

“I’ve never been satisfied.”

Neither had he. Ever.

And oh how simple it could be. Because it hadn't ever been  _ this  _ before. Because it wasn't supposed to. Wasn't right. God did not permit a man to lay with another man.

Sodomy was unlawful. Rumors and gossip he could not be a part of. He could not fulfill those stories true. It did not matter what this moment meant.

The disconnection. That thing he knew existed and lurked beneath the surface, threatening exposure. In those eyes, drowning in it, he was a goner.

Helpless. Satisfied.

Had the other man drifted closer? Suddenly it was like his face was the only one in the room. They were the only two who existed, perhaps ever. And wouldn't Bucky like it to be such. Wouldn't it be easy if it could be. He distantly saw a field. A large estate. Dogs and children. Two fathers.

Helpless.

Bucky raised his hand to shake. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes.”

“Steven Rogers.” A strong grip.

He let it go free of suspicion. His fingers felt like fire to follow. “Where’s your family from?”

And even in his confidence, he couldn't help but fidget. Bucky had seen it before, the same as those soldiers who could hardly keep themselves together talking to his sisters. A man with nothing to his name?

But he was quick. Too quick. “Unimportant.” Could he possibly move closer? There was a touch of green in his left eye. Perhaps the only imperfection that existed. “There's a million things I haven't done.” 

Bucky was so easily lost in Steve’s pride. His conviction was resolute, like he could truly do whatever he wanted in this lifetime. And what did that mean? What did that say in the way he edged to Bucky close enough to nearly touch his nose?

The noise wasn't so that he needed to loom with a whisper.

“Just you wait.”

Was this what it was like to match wits in a matter of seconds? He knew what the catch was but god it was the feeling of freedom. Of seeing the light -- Ben Franklin with the key and the kite.

He couldn't be the only one to see it. Not when it was like this. And that was terrifying.

Bucky managed a breath -- how long had he been holding that? -- before he eyed the other man. He had to regain some kind of control. “How long?”

Steve almost seemed surprised, like he couldn't have possibly expected him to ask such a plain question. His grin was lopsided. “Soon I assure, sir.”

“And you hope to change the world, is it?”

“You say that as though it's impossible.”

“Perhaps. It's a wide world, riddled in error.”

“It is dark. However it takes but a spark to fan a flame.”

Oh. That it did.

Bucky wondered if the impression was visible on his face. Because he certainly felt it form in his mouth, on his tongue in a reply, “His’try books will come to mention you, I expect.”

It appeared to be the right answer. That smile of his, it took him aback. “When you live on your knees, you rise up. You tell your brothers to rise up. I am willing to lay down and die for that cause.”

More gunshot wounds. His heart felt like an open target, freely accepting every word of justice and goodness the other had to offer. Such ideals enticed him like the worst sin. And it truly was sin to stare the way he did now, so open and fond.

Did Bucky only imagine him looking back? In those eyes--

Helpless. Satisfied.

Their conversation had hardly lasted two or three minutes and yet they spoke in total agreement. Between two men of similar intelligence, it was a bit of a dance; in the way it prickled Bucky’s chest, it was a bit of a posture. A bit of a stance. An understatement of the highest order.

And his family? He looked askance the moment Bucky asked. Worry only in his brows and the fidget of his hands. Nearly unnoticed by most, perhaps; Bucky was not most.

Penniless. Steve Rogers was flying by the seat of his pants.

“Then I am certain the kin of this generation will know your name.”

“And you?”

Bucky blinked, but a slow grin softened his face. “If I am to be your Senator one day.”

Steve mirrored his expression. “Is that all?”

“Office is no small feat, sir.”

“As is my understanding of the matter.” His gaze glanced away, thoughtful before settling into Bucky’s once more. “Perhaps this face will see your cabinet one day, too.”

Confidence and a coy smile; he was handsome and boy did he know it. A dangerous weapon. Presumptive, but Bucky didn't mind at all. Not the way he should, though many things about this little meeting were not as they should be, so what, in the end, mattered?

“You mean to charm yourself into a seat of mine?” A challenge that he posed selfishly. Stupidly, even.

“I simply wonder if it would work, sir.” 

He was absolutely implying.

Helpless. Satisfied.

Bucky’s throat was dry, swallowing down nothing. Steve watched him like he were something to covet. He wondered if it were true, misunderstanding his worth in the eyes of someone who couldn't, shouldn't be making those suggestions. From the very beginning of their conversational back and forth, he’d implied. Implying. Suggestion.

He couldn’t breathe. He wanted to take him far away. Away from New York and everything it meant to be there. A quiet farm and quiet life; he’d heard the stories, those who would risk everything to be happy. His mind’s eye wandered. How freeing it could be not to care about the rest of the world.

Lost in the sea of blue, sky’s the limit, drownin’--

He turned. He saw Peggy.

Helpless.

And he knew she was.

Helpless.

And her eyes were just--

Helpless.

And he realized three fundamental truths at the exact same time.

Turning to Steve, he grinned, leaning in and taking his arm. Fire in his chest. “I have a better idea.” And he began to lead him to walk beside him.

“Where are you taking me?”

“I am about to change your life.” And effectively ruin his own.

“By all means, lead the way.”

Number one.

Bucky, his father’s only son, had to social climb for his sisters: the oldest, the wittiest (though Peggy had herself quite the spitfire). And for himself, the future head of a household, he had to surround himself in only favorable situations. It was a part of why he chose to follow his father in campaigning as Senator one day. It was a part of why he kept his mouth closed when men like Stark and Rumlow said what they wanted about the girls. 

Talk less. Smile more.

Wait for it. Earn the votes.

Something like shock -- pleasant, breathless -- weighed his sister’s expression as they approached her. Like she did not think--did she perhaps know--he panicked, suddenly so aware--

“Margaret Barnes. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Peggy stuck out her hand more excited than Bucky could ever remember seeing her in front of a boy before.

Steve eyed her before he looked back at Bucky. Something new in those damn eyes-- “Barnes?”

“My sister.”

Number two.

Steve was after their family because they were Barnes children. It would elevate his status to marry Peggy, or even Becca, though something ferocious in Bucky did not want to see her marry first. He -- and Peggy -- would have to be naive to set that aside, and perhaps that is why he introduced Steve to Peggy in the first place. Peggy, who would become his bride. Wasn't he just a wicked man, throwing his sister forward like that when they both knew she would struggle and Steve could not give her the life she was accustomed to--

But she loved him. And to deprive her was worse, wasn't it?

Steve was penniless. But did Peggy want him any less?

Did Bucky want him any less?

Steve had been right.

He would never be satisfied.

“Thank you for all of your service.” His sister continued, watching him with full eyes take to her hand in a chaste greeting.

“If it takes fighting a war for us to meet, it will have been worth it.” Something new entirely.

Number three.

Bucky knew his sister like he knew his own mind. And no one in all of the world would ever find someone as trusting or kind, and certainly never someone as devoted as she. Just as Bucky thought the world of his sisters, he knew Peggy thought the world of him. She valued his words, his opinions; it would only take a simple no. A simple  _ “not this one, Peg.”  _ And that would be the end of it.

She would be silently resigned.

If he couldn't have him, he could make it so she wouldn't, either. Would she put it together with no hard evidence of ill character on his part? 

She would say she was fine.

She would be lying.

Bucky watched her follow Steve’s words. Her smile was soft, taken away.

Helpless.

“I'll leave you to it.” And he left, turned his back. Made a choice. The best choice.

 

When he fantasized at night, it was Steve’s eyes.

He romanticized what might have been in a different life, in one where he couldn't size him up. Couldn't, didn't have to criticize. Didn't have to hold back. The feeling of freedom on the wings of a bird -- it wouldn't merely haunt his dreams and tempt his nightmares.

Peggy, his dearest sister, would be his wife.

He would keep those eyes in his life.

Selfish and loathing. Helpless.

Unsatisfied.  
  
  


 

“To the groom!”

“To the groom, to the groom!”

“To the bride!”

“To the bride!"

“From your brother,” He said again, brought back to his toast, to the wedding, “Who is always by your side.”

Peggy moved to him, kissing his cheek. He felt sick but smiled as Steve touched his shoulder. 

“Thank you, James.” Peggy never called him that. She was a new woman. A bride.

Steve’s bride.

“To your union, and the hope that you provide!” The crowd cheered. His words choked him, mist in his eyes, smiling at his sister.

“To the union, the revolution!”

He exhaled. He forced it away.

His eyes grew dry.

“May you always be satisfied.”

Steve stared at him.

He could only stare back seconds before the crowd roared. The exchange was cruel and silent. He drank. Bucky swallowed and it began to vanish like a sickness.

It was a disease.

They drank. Peggy laughed and ducked toward Steve. A secret kiss.They moved through the crowd. 

Bucky’s gaze did not leave them. He was stuck on it, the consequence of his decision all but final, now. 

And he could live this way. He could do it, because it was right. It was the only right decision to make. He loved his sister more than--he had made a commitment to his family and country before--

She would be happy as his bride. He already knew that, the glow in her eyes. The light of her smile. He had never seen her so glad.

So lucky to be alive, right now.

Bucky would never be satisfied.

  
  
  


Peggy, his new bride, hung onto his arm. The wedding party rejoiced, a toast was made. Bu--no. James. James Barnes lifted his glass and promised himself to his sister’s side. To their shared union, to the revolution.

He had searched James’s face for imperfection. Something amiss that he could account for later. Something he would remember in the evenings.

Peggy smiled. She kissed him and he felt warm. But that was all.

Steve would never be satisfied.

 

_ You are happy my dear friend to find consolation in “words and thoughts.”  _

_ I cannot be so easily satisfied. * _

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos help keep my coat shiny and healthy. I love you all! I yell on [twitter](http://twitter.com/bymameido) and [tumblr](http://mameido.tumblr.com)!!!
> 
> * -- from a letter to Hamilton from Angelica, which you can read [here!](http://founders.archives.gov/?q=angelica%20schuyler%20Author%3A%22Church%2C%20Angelica%22&s=1111311111&r=2&sr=hamilton)


End file.
